


And I Run From Wolves

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bi-Gender, Crack, Fights, First Full Moon, Full Shift Werewolves, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mating, Not Kayfabe Compliant, Scenting, Supernatural Elements, Violence, Werewolf Bites, Werewolves disguised as pets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6040752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean could almost convince himself that night when something bit him was a dream. But what about his bloody shirt? And what about that fall he took? And why does Roman smell so fucking good all of a sudden?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll be the blood if you'll be the bones

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a teen wolf crack fusion but then it kind of turned into its own thing. Either way, I have a type: bitey.

“Pull over, I gotta piss,” Dean whispered hoarsely to Roman.

“Can’t you wait?”

“For what? We haven’t passed a gas station for like forty-five minutes. And there aren’t any empty bottles in this car, before you fuckin ask.”

“Keep your voice down, you’ll wake him up and then he’ll pout.”

Seth was sleeping in the back. They were on their way from Chicago to Indianapolis, and because Dean insisted he knew a shortcut they ended up on some bizarre rural highway through nowhere.

Roman checked his rear view mirror, then pulled off the road onto the shoulder. It sloped down a bit from there, ending in some overgrown vegetation.

Dean hopped out, unzipping his jeans to take a leak against a mile marker sign. As he was doing his thing, he felt something fall out of his back pocket and go tumbling down the embankment. “Oh, shit.” He shook off, zipped up, and felt his back pocket. His wallet wasn’t there. He dropped his wallet...

“Ro!” He opened the door. “Ro, I dropped my wallet. Do you have a flashlight?”

“Yeah, on my phone, I guess.”

“It rolled down the hill, I have to go get it.”

“What’s in it, like five bucks and somebody’s phone number?”

“And my driver’s license, and my social security card...”

Roman glared at him. “What did I tell you about that.”

“I know! But I haven’t been home since then! Not like my place is really a safe place to keep shit anyway. Come help me look for it.”

“Fine,” Roman huffed, and got out of the car. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight app. He looked in the front seat for good measure, but he didn’t see it there.

They searched and scrambled down the embankment and into the start of the woods, looking through the weeds. “It can’t have rolled that far down the hill, D.”

“What was that?” Dean asked.

“If it wasn’t the sound of you finding your fucking wallet, I don’t care,” said Roman.

Dean humphed and went back to searching. They turned their backs to each other and searched more. Suddenly, Roman heard the undeniable sound of a large animal or running through the woods and then Dean cried out. Roman turned around to see Dean clutching his abdomen, and motion leading into the woods.

He rushed over. “What the fuck?”

“Something bit me.”

Roman felt something under his foot.

“...did it also bring back your wallet?”

“Get me back into the car. I hate the fucking midwest.”

Roman hauled Dean back up the embankment, huffing and puffing. They reached the top, and Dean flopped down into the front seat of the car. He pulled up his torn and bloody white t-shirt to look at the damage: and there was nothing there. There was no wound.

“Dean, if you’re fucking messing with me, cut it out. It’s 2 am, we still haven’t hit Indy, I have no cell service, and you—”

“Roman, I swear to god, I have no idea what’s going on. A giant goddamn dog or something leapt out of the woods at me and fucking gutted me, I felt its teeth rip into me, and now I’m looking where I feel like I should be bleeding to death and...look at my shirt!”

Roman got on his knees to prod at Dean’s stomach. He could clearly see a giant torn hole in the shirt, stained with blood and grime. The skin underneath was dirty but undamaged.

“Maybe we just need some sleep,” Roman said in a daze. “We’ve been on the road for too long. My uncle used to talk about this. People see weird things on the road.”

“Yeah. Maybe that’s it,” Dean said, poking at his stomach. “But I swear I saw a fucking dog, or a wolf, or...”

“Werewolf,” Seth mumbled in the backseat.

Dean and Roman looked at each other. “Seth, are you even awake?”

“Werewolf numbers,” Seth said in his sleep. “Hunter wants them ASAP.”

“Seth is making more sense in his sleep than we are awake,” Roman said, getting up. “Time to get back on the road.” He got in, re-started the car, and they were back on the road like nothing had happened. Dean zipped up his leather jacket to cover his bloodied shirt when they got to the hotel, and they piled into their hotel room, not even mentioning to Seth that anything had happened while he was asleep.

***

That night, Dean had a dream. He didn’t usually remember his dreams, which he attributed to a few too many CZW cookies and chairs to the head. But he remember this one, waking up sweating and panting.

He had a dream that he was running through the woods. Not any familiar woods like he had hid out from his mom’s boyfriend as a child, like the ones out past the railroad tracks, but a dark forest where tree branches slapped him in the face as he ran. He was scared. He felt like he was running for his life but he didn’t remember from what.

Then, all of a sudden he felt something pounce on him from behind. He fell and everything hurt and went black and then—

He woke up, his eyes snapping open in his hotel room in Indianapolis. He heard the sound of Roman snoring next to him on the bed, and Seth brushing his teeth in the bathroom. He clutched at his chest and stomach: still unmarked, despite his memories of the injury from the night before. He rolled onto his back and ran his hands through his hair. “Shake it off, Ambrose,” he said to himself.

Someone heard him. “All the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate,” Seth sang.

“I will end you.”

“Try me!”

***

It was that night that Dean knew something was really going on.

They were taping Smackdown and he was booked for a three-way ladder match in the main event versus Kevin Owens and Dolph Ziggler for the Intercontinental Belt. He had rolled his eyes at the booking, because if he was going to fucking go through ladders it should be at a pay-per-view, shouldn’t it? But creative didn’t listen to him much, so he went along with it. At least he was booked to retain.

Everything seemed to be going okay until the set up to Owens pop-up powerbombing him onto a pile of ladders in the ring. Dean was used to taking a lot of punishment, though Owens to his credit was apprehensive about the spot.

When the time came, Dean jumped up with the toss, but then his grip slipped as he was slammed down and he landed with the full force of the powerbomb on his head, his neck snapping as his body flopped over.

Dean felt cold all over. He felt the snap. This was it. It was all over. He tried to move, but he couldn’t. Until...he could. He felt his vertebrae snapping themselves back into place, the warmth returning to his limbs, as a trainer hovered over him and he remembered to hear the crowd noise in the ring.

“Don’t try to move,” he heard the trainer say over him. He felt someone trying to strap him into a cervical collar, and he swung out, brushing them off. He got to his knees, rolling his neck experimentally. He heard some audible cracks, but he felt fine. Great, even. He wasn’t even bleeding. He pushed the trainer and the official away as Owens and Ziggler paced around him, talking under their breath. “Dude, are you okay? I thought I killed you.”

“I’m fine, fucking hit me.”

So they did. Dean felt himself go into another ladder and a sharp shard of metal that wasn’t supposed to be there gouge into his arm. He ripped it out and kept going. After a time he realized it had stopped bleeding too.

He got the title down eventually without any more botches and it was all over and thank god he didn’t have to do any promos after the match. Owens didn’t even try to jump him—he was that shaken up. Okay, whatever.

People looked at him strangely as he walked backstage through masses of production assistants and crew and other superstars and divas.

“The fuck was that out there?” Kofi Kingston said to him, jabbing him in the arm. “How are you even walking?”

“I’m fine, it wasn’t that bad.”

Kofi put up his hands and backed away. “Whatever you say. But you should...ice that. Yeah. Get an icepack.”

Dean rolled his eyes and kept walking. He hit the showers, turning the water as hot as it could go. He felt unsettled, differently than he usually felt after a show didn’t go well. Too many people around to jack off discreetly in the showers, he judged. He rinsed off, dried off, got dressed, and left to meet Roman. Seth was getting a ride with someone else and rooming with someone else—they weren’t supposed to ride places together because kayfabe and feuds and betrayals and storylines.

Another trainer and a doctor accosted him outside of the locker room, trying to get him to lie down and not move his neck anymore, that he may have done permanent damage to himself.

“I’m fine. Look.” He moved his head in a range of motion. “No pain. Look at me—do you see any bruises? Fuck off.” He shoved his way past them and caught up with Roman who was pacing back and forth near the exit doors.

“Let’s blow this joint,” Dean said, crashing through the door.

“Sure,” Roman said uncomfortably. He dragged his suitcase behind him and followed.

Roman was quiet on the drive to the motel. Dean compensated by pumping the radio up loud, a generic rock station that didn’t suck too badly.

“What’s that smell?” interjected Dean.

“I don’t smell anything.”

“Something smells...good. Like there’s the usual rental car funk, but on top of that there’s like...salt and coconut?”

Roman furrowed his brows with discomfort and didn’t respond.

They pulled into the hotel parking lot. Roman made a fist and slammed it into the door. “Dammit Dean, you shouldn’t be alive. What happened?”

“Nothing happened. I took a bad bump, and then I got up. Owens needs to quit working so fucking snug.” Dean got out of the car.

Roman followed him, talking over the roof of the car. “Your neck was bent at a goddamn fucked up angle, and your body was limp.”

“Well, yeah, I fell. It felt weird for a minute there, okay?” He rubbed the back of his neck out of apprehension. “It was a pretty bad bump.”

Roman looked him in the eye, and Dean saw the worry in his eyes. He started to say something, but stopped himself. He shut the door and grabbed his gear out of the trunk.

“Your turn to check in. One key, don’t give us away,” Dean reminded him, leaning against the car.

“When have I ever forgotten?” Roman asked. He put his baseball cap on, zipped his hoodie up, and put the hood over the hat. They were far from the arena at this point, checking into a highway-side hotel near an industrial park, and they shouldn’t be recognized.

Dean leaned against the car and waited for Roman to text him the room number. He looked at the moon: looked almost full. All of a sudden, he got the same feeling of being chased by something that he felt in his dream the night before. His heart sped up; his body was wracked with tension, his hands twisting into claw-like shapes. He ran his tongue over his teeth. That good smell from the car was gone. He was hungry for it.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, startling him. He flicked it open: “348. Propped back stairwell”. Time to go. He grabbed his suitcase, put his hood up, and headed in.

Roman was the paranoid one about the two of them being seen sharing a single room, though it wasn’t like they didn’t have to turn in their travel receipts. But most people just assumed Dean was cheap and dirty and kept sleeping on Roman’s floor like old times. Well. He was cheap and dirty, but he didn’t sleep on anyone’s floor. Anymore.

Roman let him into the room. “Maybe I’m just tired,” Roman said. “I could be seeing things.”

“Prolly,” Dean said. “Let’s order some fuckin’ pizza.”

Roman flipped open the book on the desk to look for coupons when again, Dean caught the delicious smell from the car. He sniffed the air. He stepped closer to Roman and the scent got stronger. He pushed his face into the join between Roman’s shoulder and neck: there. Like the coconut oil he used on his hair mixed with the salt of the sea in his blood.

“Oh god, it’s you,” Dean said. “Why do you smell so good?” He nipped and licked at Roman’s neck.

“Dude, I didn’t even shower, I’m gross.”

“You’re perfect. C’mere.” Dean wrapped his arm around Roman’s waist, pulling him away from the desk and the phone and toward the bed.

“I thought you were hungry!” Roman protested.

“I am hungry...for your flesh!” Dean grinned. He went to push Roman onto the bed, but found himself lifting him up and tossing him down roughly instead.

Roman was surprised but took the bump well, especially considering it was onto a pile of bolster pillows. He frowned out of the side of his mouth, considering. “I guess we can get pizza later.”

Dean crawled up onto the bed on all fours, his head bowed low between his shoulders, like a stalking wolf. He felt himself snarling animalistically, a croaking growl coming from an unexpected place inside him.

“That’s hot. I didn’t know you could do that,” laughed Roman. “You should use that in a promo—hey!” Dean pounced forward, nipping at Roman’s neck, pressing their bodies together.

Dean rubbed his crotch against Roman’s thigh and sucked at Roman’s ear. “Spread for me.”

“Can I take my clothes off first?”

Dean answered wordlessly, feeling heat surge in him. He tore Roman’s t-shirt down the middle.

“Gah!” Roman shouted, scrambling for purchase on the bed. Dean felt possessive and possessed by something, desperate to get more of his partner’s delicious scent. He buried his face in Roman’s chest, rubbing his cheek against his solar plexus, his abs, nosing and tonguing his belly button, and finally got to work on the fly of his jeans, his hands clenched and barely able to function.

“Can I help you with that? I like these jeans...” Roman undid the button and the zipper, which gave Dean enough room to yank them down. A bead of saliva fell from his mouth and landed on Roman’s bare thigh. Dean swallowed and then inhaled, Roman’s scent even stronger from his crotch.

“Goddamn, you smell amazing,” Dean growled, feeling like his whole body was on fire. Roman was cautiously half-hard and Dean lapped at his cock, the head, the shaft, nosing Roman’s balls and pressing his face into the crease of his leg. Ever ticklish, Roman squirmed but Dean grasped him by his hips and held him down with ferocious strength.

Roman kicked his pants off the rest of the way to free his legs, and bent his knees to brace his heels on the bed. Dean looked up and met the other man’s gaze. He looked both scared and aroused, not an expression he had ever seen on Roman before but one that made him feel a thrill of sadistic glee. He grabbed Roman’s thighs and lifted him up, yanking him closer, exposing the crack of his ass. Roman yelled. “Holy shit Dean, you could warn me.”

“Do I have to?” Dean grinned wickedly, feeling like his teeth were too big for his mouth.

“...maybe not. I think I like you like this, but.”

Roman didn’t get to finish that thought because Dean dove into a messy, dirty rimjob.

“Dean, I haven’t showered, you don’t have to...ohh,” Roman moaned.

Dean had never considered himself a guy that was into the real dirty stuff. But tonight he wanted every smell, every taste on his tongue, every sensation that his lover could provide him, and he wanted to mark his lover in return. He lapped at Roman’s asshole, probing with his tongue and working him relaxed and open.

There came a point where he noticed his own erection straining painfully against his jeans and remembered that he could do something about that. He drew back from Roman who had been mewing pitifully into a pillow, his legs on Dean’s shoulders. Roman fell back against the headboard, hair askew, pupils dilated, breathing heavily.

Dean felt himself scramble at his own clothes, unable to get them off. He grabbed his shirt at the neck and tore it, throwing it aside. He pulled at his jeans until they came off too, kicking shoes off after them. Now fully naked, he grasped the base of his own cock. Barely thinking, he spit into his hand, stroked a few times, and grabbed Roman’s ankle, nudging him to turn over. Roman took the hint and got on his hands and knees.

Before he knew it, he was thrusting in the crack of Roman’s ass, rubbing against his entrance, whimpering wordlessly. He looked at Roman with puppy-dog eyes, pleading to be let in.

“Yes, god, do it,” Roman gasped, looking over his shoulder.

Dean pressed the head of his cock against the flower of Roman’s hole, which yielded. All he could hear inside his head was a great howling, like the coyotes he could hear outside of his house in the desert some nights, surging inside him and driving him deeper. He fucked Roman with depravity, and all the other man could do was hang on to the bed to keep from falling off this crazy ride.

Dean clutched Roman’s body close to him, grasping his waist as he surged like the mighty tide, like the sun dawning over the majestic forest, the mighty Alpha taking what was rightfully his.

“What?” Roman asked.

“What. Did I say something out loud?”

“Something about tides and being the mighty Alpha?” When Roman said that, Dean felt a tingle all through his body.

“Yeah, call me Alpha,” Dean growled, grinding hard against Roman and reaching around to jerk his cock. All these sensations washed over him, feeling new as if he had never felt them before. His toes curled with desire and yearning.

“Alpha...please,” Roman moaned, arching his neck back. “I need you.”

“Tonight, you’re mine,” Dean said. “Tomorrow you’re mine. You’re mine forever.”

“I’m yours,” Roman wailed.

With those words, Dean felt himself draw up tightly and then let go, his orgasm rendering him without language to describe pleasure, love, existence. With instinct he grasped at Roman, stroking him, clawing his chest with the other arm, marking him as only he could, and as his lover came, Dean was transformed into a being of pure sensation.

***

After, Dean felt more settled. He also didn’t want to let Roman go for any reason. The thought of his boy washing off the scent of their lovemaking filled him with revulsion, the opposite of any normal thought that usually went through his head.

His arms were a vice around Roman, his nose buried in Ro’s head, barely even willing to withdraw his soft dick from Ro’s body, wanting them to be cemented together, unfamiliar desires motivating him in weird-ass ways. But, as always, Roman rolled with the punches. “I can shower in the morning. But I’m putting clothes on, and I’m still ordering pizza. You can hide your bare ass under the covers when the delivery guy gets here. But I am hungry.”

Dean groaned his assent. Then he fell asleep. When he woke up, there was pizza, and Roman was naked again, and everything seemed okay, despite the wary furrow in Roman’s forehead.


	2. He don't even break the branches where he's gone

Dean and Roman untangled themselves from each other when Seth arrived to collect Roman. They hit the road early the next morning for two days of liberty before they had to report for a WWE Live show in St. Louis. Roman took off with Seth in a rented sports car for some CrossFit bullshit in Normal, Illinois before they both headed back to crash in Iowa.

“Well. Crash, figuratively speaking,” Roman said, departing awkwardly.

“Drive safe, kids,” Dean said.

“You too,” Roman said. “Get some rest. You haven’t been yourself lately.”

Dean shrugged off the caution and threw his stuff in his own rental. “I’m never myself, brother.”

 

He was agitated the whole flight from Indianapolis to Las Vegas. He peeled the label off his beer and rolled it into tiny tubes. Being confined in a metal tube hurtling through the air never bothered him this much before, but when he finally put his feet on the ground the anxiety melted away.

He took a cab home, dropped his bags in the hallway, and stripped off his clothes as he walked. He fell face-first onto his bed and passed out asleep. When he woke up, it was almost nighttime. The light of the full moon peeked through his blinds, hitting his face.

He got up to pace around his house in the nude. He poured and ate a bowl of cereal; it didn’t help. He felt hungry almost like an itch, a crawling feeling coming from his bones. What had happened back in the woods? Why was he letting it get to him? He dropped the empty bowl in the sink, too hard, and it cracked in half, white shards of ceramic scattering from the edges. The sound made him jump. Sounds, he was surrounded by sounds even though the house should be quiet: cars, airplanes, animals, people talking. Where were they coming from?

It would be better if Roman was around, he thought. Roman made him feel calmer, tethered to something real. He also made Dean want to be a better person. But their career being what it was, they had to keep things quiet and casual no matter how strongly they felt.

He gathered up the pieces of broken bowl and dumped them in the trash, then he headed upstairs to take a shower. He let the hot water burn away the sensation and focused on the sound of it hitting his body and the floor. The edge was still there: he took himself in hand and jerked off mercilessly, thinking about Roman saying his name and calling him Alpha—where the fuck did that even come from? But the thought of it made something expand in his chest, filling him with warmth instead of edginess. He closed his eyes and leaned against the back wall, breathing hard as he came against the tile and the shower water washed the evidence of his self-love down the drain.

By the time he got done and got dressed, night had fallen completely. He couldn’t stand the sight of his own house, so he called a cab to take him to his favorite bar: maybe yelling at sports and drinking beer would help. It usually did. And it was his day off.

He grabbed his jacket and his stupid wallet that got him into this fucking mess.

“You sure you want to go out to the bar on the full moon?” the cab driver asked him, her face lit up by the headlights of oncoming cars.

“Best time to go,” he said. “It’s always interesting.”

She dropped him off in front of his favorite country bar in all of Henderson County, the Don’t Drop Inn. He paid her and strutted in, trying to remember how to walk like he wasn’t slinking away from anything.

Four beers in, the night was starting to seem like a worse and worse idea. The Reds were getting crushed by the Giants and all the usuals were being smug assholes about it. This guy named Pete, who they always called Pete the Prick behind his back, was getting in his face and it was harder for him to ignore than usual. Then someone brought up politics and everything went to hell. “Maybe that cabbie was right about bars on the full moon,” Dean thought to himself. He got up to put some quarters in the jukebox.

“What are you lookin’ at?” said a voice he didn’t recognize.

“Huh?” he said, tossing a few coins in his hand.

“Faggot,” the voice said. Dean looked up to see a heavyset man in a red t-shirt standing about five feet from him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

“I thought you just said not to look at you,” Dean said without thinking. The man closed the distance between them and grabbed Dean by the collar of his jacket. Dean went limp, the man dropped him, and then Dean was able to wrench the man’s arm behind his back. His quarters scattered to the floor, tinkling and rolling away.

“You must not know who you’re talking to,” Dean growled. “Don’t make that mistake again.” His head swam as he shoved the guy away and headed out the side door into the alley. He fingered the squashed pack of cigarettes and lighter in his jacket pocket—at least no one here would tattle on him for smoking.

He staggered out the door and leaned against the stinking brick wall, catching his breath. His hands fumbled and shook as he tried to light a cigarette, tried again until it caught and he could take a drag. It burned his lungs, and not in the usual way that felt kinda good—he was doubled over coughing and retching. He staggered forward. After he caught his breath, he took a look at the cigarette—it looked normal, just like all the others. He smelled it: the smell turned his stomach. He dropped it to the ground and stomped it out.

The alley door slammed open and the guy who had been hassling him stomped out. “Motherfucker!” the man screamed at Dean.

“Today is not a good day for this!” Dean yelled back, anger and outrage surging in him. “You know I do this for a living?”

The guy said nothing, instead running forward and trying to football tackle Dean. Well. He’d seen that one before. He directed the force of his offence to the side and around him, and the guy ran into the wall. He staggered back, swinging a haymaker at Dean, who felt time slow down, dodging that blow and slamming his fist into the face of the guy.

The blood poured from the man’s nose and mouth, and the sight of the blood tore a growl from Dean. The other man’s face contorted further in fear and disgust. “What’s wrong with your face?” he said around probably broken teeth.

Dean couldn’t speak, just growled again as rage filled him. He tried to fight the sensation but it was useless: he was swallowed by the urge to run from the scene but he knew he had to stay, knew it was an accident, he didn’t mean to hit the guy so hard. The other guy was running away, was gone.

He took his head in his hands. It felt wrong, somehow, too big, the wrong shape, soft? His hands felt wrong. He looked at them and they were sprouting claws. Was he hallucinating? Someone must have spiked his drink, except that had happened to him before and it didn’t feel anything like this. He looked up, saw the full moon laughing at him, felt it tear a howl out of him, from his chest.

Maybe he was finally cracking, for real this time, one too many chair shots to the head catching up with him. He felt his spine wracked with pain, his body dropping to the ground, or more the ground surging up at him. He cried out in pain and it turned into a feral sound that he had heard only once before. His clothes ripped as his body shifted, bones cracking and joints realigning, a monstrous wonder rising out of the tatters of Dean Ambrose’s blue jeans and jacket. His hat fell off his head, no longer a shape meant to hold it. He held a paw up to his face, brushed it against his nose, ran his tongue over sharp teeth.

The smells of the city washed over him and he had to get away. The part of his brain that thought in words faded away from his reach; he thought in images. A park, the edge of town, where the coyotes run—one ran in front of his car once, going out to go meet a guy once. He sniffed the air: a trail. They ran in the city, like in every city, there is an underground where you can travel on four legs.

He still had the presence to look both ways before darting across the street but he kept to the shadows, then the backyards, and while the night was dark enough to cover him, the moon gave him light to find his way.

Every once in awhile he caught the scent of something familiar, half-remembered, a sense of longing and desire laying him low. He held his tail straight out behind him, on edge. He had a tail. He flicked it, swished it experimentally. He didn’t remember ever having a tail before, but in his wordless state everything was new, his eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and body parts unknown.

Finally, finally he came to moving water, and then to rocks, and plants, and running things to chase, and then more of that smell: others. This was the place.

A nip at his back legs surprised him and he circled around to see down his muzzle another creature, brown like the sandstone beneath them but streaked with black and a light color, white maybe in a better light. The coyote gestured with her head toward a ravine not far away, and then she yipped and ran off. He bounded after her, stretching his legs and feeling his feet roll off the uneven ground in an ancient pattern. Down, down the path, deep into the canyon he went, and there she was again, waiting for him, her head on the ground playfully between her front paws. He bowed back and then gave chase.

He ran and ran until he caught her, his jaws resting gently on her throat. He won the game. Then he released her, knowing that any more would be wrong, at least, wrong for him. Salt, coconut.  She trotted off, looking over her shoulder at him, and he followed. In the distance, more lupine creatures gathered, prowling anxiously.

For the moment, Dean’s own name was far from him. He howled at the moon and ran with a pack of wolves and coyotes, taking down prey and being cautiously felt out by predators bigger and smaller than him.

But Dean Ambrose was not forgotten by the human world, especially after his shredded clothing, wallet, and cellphone were found in the alley behind a filthy bar outside of the Las Vegas city limits. It rippled outward: the police report was filed, Dean was recorded as missing, his emergency contacts were alerted, and the fact that Dean Ambrose was missing or possibly dead somehow leaked from the Henderson County Sheriff’s Department to the overnight dirt sheets. By morning, rumors swirled: Dean was dead. Dean was missing. Dean had been assaulted. No body had been found.

 

Dean woke up naked on his own front lawn the next morning. He looked down at himself, filthy and completely naked. He had a dream that he hunted a jackrabbit, except he still had the taste of animal blood in his mouth. He was human again, he confirmed he still had all his parts, but it dawned on him to quickly get his ass inside before someone calls the cops on him.

He couldn’t remember where his phone or keys or wallet were; if he was naked, they had to be with his pants, right? How did he get home? His head hurt. “Maybe it was that bump off the ladder: maybe I got hurt worse than I thought after all. Maybe I should let them put me on medical leave,” he thought as he staggered to his feet.

He tried the front door: it was unlocked. He walked in the front hall to the living room to find Seth and Roman sleeping on his couch. Not good. Their phones were both going off. He answered one. It was Triple H. Hunter yelled and Dean growled back into the phone.

“Did you fucking steal a dog while you were at it? Where were you?” Hunger shouted.

“I wish I fucking knew, Trips! I just—”

Seth jumped up and grabbed the phone.

“Hunter, it’s me, he’s here and safe and let’s be happy with that for now, alright?” There was a pause. “Well, he’s also naked. Clothes first, then Instagram. Talk to you soon.”

Roman looked him up and down. “I would say I don’t want to know, but that would be a lie.”

“Why are you here,” Dean said flatly.

Roman stood up off the couch and put his arms around Dean, nuzzling his neck despite the dirt. “You were reported missing. Somebody found your wallet and shit.”

“We’re your emergency contacts, numb nuts,” Seth said. “Some dumbass at the precinct overnight who saw the police report told one of the fucking gossip blogs. Now all of Twitter is posting memorials for you.”

“Really?” Dean asked. “What are they saying?”

“Put on pants, you ASSHOLE,” shouted Seth. “We got on a plane overnight from IOWA for this. You can apologize to my mom later.”

Dean grinned and opened his mouth to make a joke about moms, but Seth smothered him with a hand. “Pants, then we take a proof of life picture for Instagram.”

“Can I brush my teeth first? I feel like I ate a raw fur coat or something…”

 

After Dean felt a little more human, they took a joking picture of “hungover” Dean and uploaded it to the internet. Roman headed out to get them some food.

After Roman was out the door, Seth turned to Dean, full of seriousness. “Do you really not remember what you did last night? I got a text this morning from someone who thought he saw you at a...gathering. In a park?”

“That wasn’t a dream?” Dean asked.

“Nope,” said Seth.

“But I turned into an animal.”

“Yep.”

“Who the fuck texted you?”

“Jimmy Jacobs.”

“Of all the fucked up things I saw last night, I did not see Jimmy Jacobs.”

Seth shook his head. “Jimmy Jacobs was totally DTF, but I heard you were a perfect gentlewolf. I mean, you have a mate, it makes sense…”

“How do you know so much about this shit?” Dean snapped.

“Well. It’s never come up before, but I come from a family of werewolves. So I know one when I see one. I’m sorry I didn’t catch this sooner. That’s on me.”

Dean ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m a werewolf.” He stood up from the couch. “I got bit by a werewolf on the drive to Indianapolis.”

“We really should figure out who did that, because it’s kind of not cool to bite random people? Like, that’s not allowed?” Seth gestured with his hands.

“So...there are werewolf rules,” Dean said.

“There kinda has to be to go along with the weird werewolf powers,” sad Seth. “Otherwise...werewolf chaos.”

“ _I_ have weird werewolf powers. I almost killed a guy on the full moon. And then. Wait. I almost fucked JIMMY JACOBS?”

“Well, flirting isn’t exactly almost-fucking.”

“Like, I think I chased a girl coyote around?” Dean’s eyes went wide. “Whoa.”

“Now you’re catching on. The zombie princess is actually a princess, at least in animal form.” Seth shrugged. “In this world, some people turn into a wolf that is physically very different from how they are as humans. Some small people turn into huge wolves; some huge people become sly, slinky things. A few become a wolf whose body is different in smaller ways. Just a couple things between the legs. No big deal.”

“So that’s why she seemed familiar. So...do people, like, have a sex change when they hulk out?”

“That’s a pretty fucked up way to describe it. I’m sure Jimmy would be happy to hear—”

“Shut up about Jimmy. So what, it’s like your wolf is the real you?” Dean asked skeptically.

“Is your human body the real you?” Seth asked back snottily. “It’s not any more you than that one is. It’s just another part of you. Some people who shift late in life or get turned late are surprised by it, but usually not. You at least suspected that you’d look like that or be like that.” He kicked his feet up onto the couch and folded his arms.

“So what does your wolf look like?” Dean asked pointedly.

“I wish I knew,” said Seth.

“Huh?”

Seth sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I haven’t earned it yet. The bite, I mean. Just because you’ve got them in the family doesn’t mean you’re going to come out of the womb with fur and fangs. Plus I’m adopted?”

“Sorry, we’re talking about fucking werewolves here, this wasn’t covered in GED Biology.”

“You should come back to Iowa with me,” Seth said. “My old man can get this straightened out. He knows a lot of people. You can stay at my place, just lay low for a while. Hunter’s probably going to suspend you for all this. I mean, you’re the Lunatic Fringe, it’s easy to cover for. Send you home for four weeks, vacate the title, start over. It’s okay.”

“IT’S NOT OKAY,” shouted Dean. “I’m not vacating the title—I’m not sick and I’m not broken. If it’s okay to be a werewolf then it’s gotta be fucking fantastic to be one in WWE, right? I’m not dead and I didn’t kill anybody. Whatever the gossip blogs say, it can’t be fucking weirder than the truth. It can’t even touch the truth.”

“A heavy veil sits over the mortal realm,” Seth sighed. Dean rolled his eyes.

Then there was a pounding at the door, followed by Roman shouting to open up. Dean jumped up from the couch and stomped over, popping the deadbolt and the chain and hauling it open. Roman came in, laden with take-out bags.

“I got Chinese from that place down the road,” Roman said, dropping stuff onto the coffee table. He looked up and then between Seth and Dean’s pinched faces. “What. What did I miss. Did Dean really die and this is ghost Dean come back to haunt us? In that case, I bought too much food.”

“I’m a werewolf,” Dean said.

“And you’re his mate,” Seth said, giving Roman a sheepish look. “That’s...a thing. With werewolves,” he added, looking uncomfortable.

“Huh,” Roman said.

They all stared at each other.

“Well, we can’t do anything about that on an empty stomach,” Roman said finally. He reached into a bag and pulled out a carton and some chopsticks.

“That’s it? You don’t have any more questions?” Seth asked.

“Some dudes turn into girl werecoyotes. I learned that today,” Dean said.

“The world is full of weird shit,” Roman said. “But dude. You’re alive. The whole internet thought you were dead. Can’t we just enjoy that for a minute? Everything else can wait.” He took a bite of chop suey out of his carton. “Well. Everything except lunch. Don’t let it get cold!” He shoved some food at Dean who opened it in a daze, gradually warming to Roman’s own brand of caretaking. The supernatural probably could wait until after he ate these dumplings.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of my werewolf headcanon, especially the bigender stuff, owes a lot to [DiscontentedWinter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/profile)'s [Little Wild Animal](http://archiveofourown.org/series/309867) universe of stories.


	3. isn't it nice to know a lot (and a little bit not)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic's going to continue on its merry AU way no matter what actually happens in canon, though I really was hoping for a surprise Seth Rollins return. Ah well. Rest up, love.

They ate. Roman was right; Roman was usually right, Dean thought to himself as he chewed on a dumpling. Even before all this supernatural bullshit started to go down, it was nice to have someone he could count on to make sure he took care of himself. He’d probably be in even better shape today if they had met earlier in his life. Then again, maybe he would have never wrestled if he had had a mate to talk some sense into him as a teenager.

A mate. The term just popped into his head. He looked at Roman next to him on the couch, shoveling noodles into his mouth. It fit them. Dean wasn’t used to having anything feel right on the first try; if they couldn’t be normal, at least they could be  _ right _ .

“Ro, what would you name your dog if you got a dog?” Seth asked, looking up from his phone.

“Big dog or little dog?” Roman asked back.

“Big.”

“Hmm. Bear?”

“Great,” Seth said, going back to texting.

Dean leaned against Roman’s side, tucking himself under the other man’s arm. He used his chopsticks to steal food from Roman’s cartons. After a while, Roman just started feeding him bites of beef and rice and dumpling until there wasn’t any left.

“We shouldn’t waste the rest of this day off,” Seth said, setting down an empty container on the coffee table. “You need to practice.”

“Practice what?” Dean asked defensively. Roman put hand on his arm to calm him.

“Well, everything. Shifting, shifting back...were-senses are tough to get used to so we might test you there.”

“We?” asked Roman. “I have no idea what I’m doing here, other than making sure Dean doesn’t eat himself. Or me, or anyone else.”

“Welcome to your new job,” Seth said. “But I was going to bring someone else along who’s got experience in this. I’ve got some shifter friends in town.” He frowned. “It’s kind of a bummer, a first change is a really big deal in my family. Most people have a big party or at least do  _ something _ .” Seth sighed.

“Never had a lot of parties thrown on my account,” Dean said.

“Mate-bonding too,” Seth added absently, looking at his phone and texting someone back.

“I think I’m okay with werewolf-eloping,” Roman chimed in. “Please don’t make us have a shotgun were-wedding.”

Dean choked on his drink.

Seth got to his feet. “Who wants to take the werewolf for a walk?”

They pulled off the road and into a gravel parking lot lot adjacent to several trailheads in the Red Rock Canyon, where Dean had had his adventure in the night before. Hopping out, they saw a familiar face waiting for them, perched on a fencepost.

“Nice to see you again, Dean,” Jimmy Jacobs called out. “Did you shave? You look different.”

Seth grinned. “Glad you got that mange taken care of,” he said to Jimmy.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Annit-kay, ib-squay,” he fired back. Seth looked hurt.

Dean and Roman looked at each other and back at Seth, but no translation was forthcoming. “Did you get the stuff?” Seth asked.

“Yeah, I had to guess on the size, but I got a pretty good look last night so it should be fine.” Jimmy handed a bag of stuff to Seth, who rifled through it.

“Sweet, even the papers. You’re the best, furface.”

“You’re lucky I’m still talking to you, two-legs, after last time.”

Seth made his best “who, me?” expression.

“So what  _ exactly _ are we doing here?” Dean asked.

“Let’s hike out a bit before we get into that,” Seth said.

They took a little-used trail out into the scrubby pines and some impressive rock formations. Since it was a weekday, they didn’t see any other hikers around.

“Are you willing to take your clothes off now?” Jimmy asked.

“Not while you’re looking at me like that.”

Jimmy turned around and faced the trees. “Now?”

“Jimmy. Jimbo. Maybe you’re taking this a little fast,” Seth said, putting a hand on the man’s arm. “He literally just had his first change yesterday.”

“Yeah, and you all have to report to work tomorrow, so, take off your clothes. Unless you want to shred them while you practice shifting.”

Dean huffed.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Roman said. “I...I want to see what you look like. When you’re a wolf.” He looked down bashfully.

Dean caught Roman’s chin in his hand and tilted his head up so they could look at each other. Roman pleaded with his eyes.

Seth just rolled his eyes. “You’d think with the number of locker rooms you’ve stripped down in that this would not be the roadblock here.”

Dean huffed and whipped his shirt off over his head, hucking it at Seth’s head. “You happy?”

Seth sucked his teeth.

Dean stripped the rest of the way and stood there naked, folding his arms like they would cover something shameful. “Okay, what do I do now? Get angry? I got a pretty good start.”

Seth pulled a hand mirror out of the grocery bag he was holding, then passed the bag to Jimmy, who turned around to watch when Dean wasn’t paying attention.

“This is just so you get to see what it looks like.” He passed it to Roman, who held it up in front of Dean. “I’m secretly in love with Roman and we’re going to elope. This was a trick to embarrass you.” Seth pulled out his phone to take a picture of Dean naked.

“What?” Dean roared, his eyes brightly flashing amber. Fangs descended in his mouth and his hands sprouted claws. He glanced at his monstrous reflection in the mirror.

“I told you that would work,” Seth said smugly to Roman, but was cut off when Dean lunged for him, wrapping a hand around his neck and lifting him off the ground. Seth grabbed Dean’s arm to brace himself and tried to kick out. Roman bear hugged Dean from behind.

“It was a trick! Relax! He’s an asshole but he just wanted to get you to hulk out! I’m still your mate, I’m right here,” Roman said, nuzzling into Dean’s neck from behind. Dean dropped Seth, who stumbled back and was caught by Jimmy.

“Maybe let me poke the bear next time,” Jimmy said.

“Noted,” gasped Seth, rubbing at his neck.

“Okay boss, now you’ve seen a partial transformation. Don’t lose the thread of your rage.”

“The fuck does that mean,” Dean lisped around his massive canines.

“Stay angry, I think,” Roman said, rubbing his shoulders.

“That feels too good,” Dean said, leaning into his mate.

“Maybe we could practice this back at Dean’s house,” Roman sighed. “Maybe in the yard?”

“Nah, how are we going to explain why a wolf is hanging out with three professional wrestlers? You going to take me for a run?”

“Um.” Seth said, eyeing Jimmy. Jimmy handed over the bag. Dean looked inside.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He handed the bag to Roman. Roman pulled out a large dog collar and a leash. There were papers in the bag too. Roman squinted at them then stifled a laugh. He handed them over to Dean.

“This is kinky and weird,” Dean said, frowning at the paperwork, showing that Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns officially owned a high-content wolfdog named Bear.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Jimmy said. “It’s just in case. You gotta cover your ass in case you get caught by animal control, or the game warden, or whatever. My cousin got fitted with a radio collar once. True story. We all got microchipped after that.”

Dean and Roman stared in horror. Seth rubbed the back of his neck looking uncomfortable.

“Do I have to sleep in a kennel too?” Dean said under his breath.

“No, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have one, for cover,” Jimmy said like this was a totally normal conversation. “You’re all registered with the city as a wolf-dog hybrid, which are legal to own here—my cousin fast tracked it.”

“The radio collar cousin?” Seth asked.

“No, his sister,” Jimmy answered. “We got you tags and everything.”

“Bear,” said Roman, failing to fight his hysterical laughter.

“...that’s why you wear that choke chain,” Dean said, realization dawning on him.

Seth rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s easier to pull off wearing it as a human if you’re already goth as fuck. Otherwise, just keep your cover handy.”

Dean growled, frustration and anger at his helplessness against the bizarreness of his new situation overtaking him. He howled, tilting his head back, showing large canines, his eyes flashing a glowing amber. Fur rippled over his body as his bones cracked, reshaping into the angular structure of the canine form. He stood up to his full length and stared down his friends. He growled.

“Wow,” Roman said softly. He held up the hand mirror again so Dean could see himself. He was a tawny reddish brown that melded in perfectly with their surroundings. He was about three feet tall at the shoulder, the fur on the top of his head sticking up in odd directions. He squinted at the mirror and made a chuffing noise.

“Can I pet you?” Roman asked. “Can I pet him? Is that weird? What’s the werewolf etiquette…” he said to Jimmy as Dean threw himself against Roman’s legs, knocking him back. He headbutted his thigh. Roman scratched the top of Dean’s head between his ears.

“Never weird to touch your mate,” Jimmy laughed, “but other folks might take offense.”

“Should we be watching this?” Seth asked.

“Oh shut up,” Roman said. Dean growled.

“Someone said something about a run earlier,” Jimmy said, changing the subject. “I’m dying to stretch my legs. You two okay here if Deano and I go out on one of the trails?”

Roman grimaced. “Should he wear the collar?”

Jimmy and Seth looked at each other and then nodded.

Dean then learned that he could still roll his eyes in wolf form. But he held still while Roman buckled the leather collar around his neck with its jingling metal tags. “If found, return to Roman Reigns” was not the worst instructions he could be carrying around with him, after all.

Jimmy shucked off his clothes and tossed them at a surprised Seth, and melted in a blink of an eye into a small form, even better camouflaged than Dean. She swished her tail and play-bowed.

Seth narrowed his eyes. “Fine, you two go. Meet us back at the car when you’re done.”

Jimmy took off up a rocky trail, small gravel rolling downhill where she went. Dean rubbed his head against Roman’s leg, gave him one last look, then followed.

Time felt different as a wolf. Dean got lost in the sensation of sun-warmed rock and earth beneath his paws, the scent of other animal, plants, living things, the bristle of his fur in the desert wind. They wound around, Jimmy letting Dean catch up and then dashing off further, until they summited a spire of rock with a flat top.

Dean stood, his tail in the air, surveying the scenery around him. He felt like king of the hill, until Jimmy slammed into him. He turned to look and Jimmy had become human again, laying flat on his back, head propped up on his hands, eyes closed, bathing in the sun, naked but for a chain around his neck. “You can change back too.”

Dean chuffed.

“Just think human thoughts. I dunno, think about paying your taxes or buying a new couch. Ikea always makes me feel human when I’ve gone too feral.”

Dean tilted his head, puzzled, but as he thought about his house, the house he wanted Roman to move into with him, his fur melted away and he fell to the ground flat on his face. He grunted.

“You’ll get used to it eventually,”Jimmy said sympathetically.

“Glad to have you around,” Dean said. “Not sure how I’d handle this without someone who’s been there.”

“Thank Seth. I’m probably the last person you’d think to call on your own,” Jimmy said.

“I’m sure he’s got a whole rolodex of bi-gender, bi-species friends,” said Dean.

“Don’t forget bisexual.” Jimmy waggled his eyebrows.

“Hey, I got a mate.” Dean put up his hands.

Jimmy laughed at that.

“Can I ask? Are you just...like a girl when you’re a coyote, and back to feeling like a dude when you’re human? Is that a rude werewolf question?”

Jimmy waved him off. “Nah. So, our family always talked about it like you have a wolf that lives inside of you.”

“Not two wolves?” Dean asked.

“Fuck no, one wolf is enough. Or one coyote. Okay, one wolf, and when the moon is fuller your wolf pulls on you more and wants to come out and play more. Your wolf has a personality that may be the same or different from your human one. They come and go. My wolf is a really aggressive girl? I feel like a girl about half the time? But like, I always knew. Seth always knew. Probably why we hit it off so well.”

“How long have you guys even known each other?” Dean asked, rolling onto his back, trying not to be too conscious of their nakedness.

“Let me put it this way. I’ve read his Harry Potter fanfiction. I’m actually  _ in _ his Harry Potter fanfiction,” Jimmy said. “We met through our parents back when we were kids. We grew up together. We were livejournal friends...we hung out on AIM because we were in different states. But shifters like to get together a lot so we did. You know he was my prom date? I mean technically we went stag because it was like, 2004, but we went together.”

Dean shook his head. “Are there pictures?”

“Somewhere. Not on facebook, though too bad for that. He was at my first change and we always planned and talked about his but...it never came. I guess he always thought it would just happen, you know? His mom has shifters in the family. He seemed the type. But...nothin’. Big fat nothing. No Hogwarts letter after all. And his old man...” Jimmy trailed off.

“So can I just bite him? Would that shut him up?”

Jimmy sighed and brushed his hair out of his face. “You’re not an alpha so it probably wouldn’t take. And it’d be really disrespectful to his family. And it might kill him. There’s a pretty high chance of getting sick from it, and once you’re sick you can be paralyzed or die or fall into a coma. Werewolf bites are nasty.”

Dean flexed his arms. He felt fine. His hand went to his abdomen where he was bitten. “So how come I got a good one?”

“Just lucky, I guess. Or well-scouted. Somebody watched you and thought you would survive it.” Jimmy sighed. “It wasn’t random, Dean. Somebody picked you.”

“Who the fuck thinks that Dean Ambrose would be improved by adding claws and fangs?” Dean wondered out loud.

“Well. I’m not sure they were wrong. But who would risk it if you weren’t? If you had died? Some ashole bit you and abandoned you.”

They lay in silence. A hawk flew over them, far overhead. Voles rustled in the brush, near-silently, but Dean could almost feel their motion. The red earth under him was warm and sweet. He felt a pang of sadness for everyone who couldn’t feel these things and for all the years he spent never having even noticed them before.

Dean fingered the collar around his neck. Claims worked both ways, he thought.

“We should probably shift and head out before someone catches us nude sunbathing,” Jimmy said, breaking the silence.

“Transform and roll out,” Dean replied. He thought about what would have happened if he died from the bite, to Roman, to be without him, who could be that careless, and the anger turned into fur, and he was off running.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my massive word-vomit of weird Jimmy/Seth headcanons, which are completely made up and based only on the known fact of Seth's Harry Potter fandom.
> 
> [Red rock canyon](http://www.blm.gov/nv/st/en/fo/lvfo/blm_programs/blm_special_areas/red_rock_nca.html) makes me want to go back to Vegas, if that's where Dean Ambrose does shirtless yoga, btw.
> 
> Next time on: we find out who bit Dean, I promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Wolves Without Teeth" by Of Monsters and Men.


End file.
